Higher Honor Excerpt

Michael took the stairs two at a time, although he had a few minutes before his Spanish class. Reaching the foyer of the second floor, he found exactly who he was looking for. It helped that Cassidy was so predictable. She sat at one of the tables in the lobby, frowning over a text book and writing furiously. As English majors, most of their classes were in this building and he could almost bet that if she wasn't hiding in the newspaper office, she was here.

Without a word, he pulled up a chair and sat in it so that he could lean on the backrest and watch her intently until she looked up. She didn't. She pushed a stray curl behind her ear, only for it fall to her cheek again. Even when he tossed his black beret onto her book, her scowl deepened as she stared at its soft form. She picked it up and by the time she faced him, she was smiling.

“L.T.,” she smiled teasingly. “What's up?”

“Were you thinking that hard, or were you ready to rip that book up?” he asked, pulling out his sour candy and offering her one.

She took it. “Both. I hate statistics.”

“One in four cadets hate statistics,” he mused.

She laughed, pushing the errant curl back again. “Maybe you should check your math, it should be higher.”

His smile sobered somewhat, but only enough to let her know he had business with her. She stopped laughing and waited, but her smile didn't fade. “I wanted to see how you were doing? Really doing, that is.”

Her smile weakened, but not much and he was glad. “All in all, I'm good. I have more good days than bad days. I'm discovering the bad days generally coincide with days I don't read my Bible.”

“Amazing how that works,” he popped another piece of candy in his mouth. “The secret is, read your Bible.”

“Look,” he said hesitantly. “I don't know if anyone told you, but you know that when you accepted Christ, you were made pure.”

“I know, Michael,” she looked at him curiously, sensing that his usually infallible self was suddenly unsure.

“You were made pure not just from your sins, but those committed against you,” he finished. “I just felt like you needed to hear that.”

She met his gaze and her eyes looked sad. “I did need to hear it. Thanks.”

When her look faltered, he picked up on it instantly. “You have a question.”

Her look this time was surprised and her voice somewhat exasperated. “How could you tell?”

“You always get this uncertain look when you want to ask something, but aren't sure." He felt he should qualify his remark to put her at ease. “I learned how to read people when I was young, that way I would know how to get what I needed without wasting time. It's a survival technique.”

She paused again, looking nervously at her pencil and her book. “How can I forgive him?”

Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Pray for him,” he said quietly, almost wishing he had a different answer. “It's hard, I know. But when you feel sad or angry, or the memories rush back and your afraid, pray for him. I'm sure you see him, maybe have to talk to him, pray then. It won't be easy, Cassidy. I've gone down that road, backpedaled, ran off the path and everything else, but it can be done.”

“It took me years to forgive my mom. She walked out when I was 11. I was 13 when I was saved and I started praying shortly after that to forgive her. I was 20 before I could fully say I forgave her.”

“You had a lot to forgive,” she said.

“You do too,” he said sternly. "Don't discount what you've been through.”

“Did you tell her you forgave her?”

Michael paused. “I haven't seen her since I was 15 when she tried to regain custody of me,” he explained. Sensing where she was going, he continued. “Some say to truly forgive you have to confront the person who hurt you. I might agree in some cases, but Cassidy, if you reach that point, I'm not sure that's a good idea. You have to put your safety first.”

She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, letting his answer soak in for a moment.

“If it's that important to you,” he started, “let me know and I'll go with you.”

She smiled again, more forced than before.“ Thanks, but it will be a long time before that's an issue.”

Michael shifted in his seat, ready to change subjects. “You know, Ryan is so excited that you're coming with us to Chris's. The roof and the porch need repairing, and the bathroom floor needs replacing. Alot of work and he said you're good with a hammer.”

She laughed, tried to stifle it, but only managed to laugh louder. “Whatever. How's Chris's dad doing?”

Michael looked away. His tactic to switch subjects backfired and went from unsettling to just depressing. “Not good. I'd be surprised if he makes it through spring break.”